The Wayward Bow
by Circe-Aeaea
Summary: Haldir's bow goes missing and elflings Rumil and Orophin play 'Hardy Boys' to solve the mystery. Warning: Mild slash moment at end.


Author's Note: Part of the fic challenge "Lothlorien elves" on Library of Lorien . Set long before the events of LoTR, during an unspecified time in the Third Age. In this story, Haldir is the eldest brother, aged about 115, Orophin is 45 (~ 18 human years), and Rúmil is the youngest at 22 (~ 9 human years). In "Laws and Customs of the Eldar," Tolkien sets forth a system whereby elves reach social maturity at fifty, equivalent to twenty human years. Thus, there is a rough ratio of two and a half elf years for every one human year.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
Long Ago, in an Enchanted Forest.  
  
The talan had been turned inside out, upside down, in a way that was most unlike elves, who, as a race, tend to fastidiousness. Clothes had been pulled from wardrobes and trailed upon the floor, books were removed from shelves and piled hither and yon, cupboards in the kitchen area had been emptied of vessels and foodstuffs, and chairs were overturned. In the midst of all this domestic wreckage, three blond elves sat (well, really, one elf and two elflings), all with faces contorted in serious thought.  
  
"I just don't understand what could have happened to it," the eldest said, tugging a slender braid in exasperation.  
  
"You're sure it was here?" the second oldest, slightly suspicious by his nature, queried.  
  
"Yes!" the eldest snapped.  
  
The youngest, as was his wont when anxious, said nothing. Instead, he sucked his left thumb into his mouth, and clutched at a small, frayed, yellow woolen blanket.  
  
"I did not mean to imply that you were being forgetful," the second oldest amended.  
  
The eldest sighed, ran a hand across his face before replying. "I know you did not, Orophin. I am sorry that my temper is so quick. This is bothersome, that my bow has suddenly gone missing. Now I will be forced to borrow one when I arrive at the fences tonight, and that will earn me naught but scorn. I can already imagine some of the jests the older guardians will make."  
  
"Do not anticipate the worst, Haldir, or it shall surely come to pass. Feign along with them and the taunts will not last long; the sport is in seeing how easily the subject of one's ridicule becomes incensed," Orophin counseled, wise beyond his years.  
  
"I shall try, brother, although I do not know how well I will succeed. It is difficult being the youngest recruit. Some of the guardians believe they are better than I simply because of their age, while my skill outshines theirs for all my lack of years. Well, enough of this, it is time I was gone," Haldir replied. He stood, scooping the youngest elfling up into his strong arms. The young one gave a small sound of displeasure, but otherwise allowed his self to be drawn into a broad hug.  
  
"Now, Rúmil, be good, and do as your brother directs. He is in charge here while I am away. Remember, when I return I will teach you how to fletch your own arrows. Would you like that?" Haldir asked, peering into the wide silver-blue of his youngest brother's eyes. His answer came in the form of a squeal, and the tightening of slender elfling arms about his neck. Laughing, Haldir used Rúmil's own grip to swing the small body about in the air as he turned several balletic circles, dizzying them both. Haldir stooped towards the floor, depositing his small brother with a quick kiss to the forehead. Moving to the talan portal, he picked up his pack, turned back to deliver a final gesture of farewell, and then departed, beginning the journey that would take him back to the northern guard posts along the borders of Lothlorien.  
  
Orophin watched until his oldest brother was no longer visible, and then turned to Rúmil. "Well, brother, you helped mess up this place, so now you must help me clean. I suppose we should start here." He looked about with a sigh, not quite understanding how the three of them had created such a disaster in so little time.  
  
Rúmil peered up at his older brother and closest friend. "But. shouldn't we attempt to find Haldir's bow first?"  
  
"We've looked through the whole of the talan, little one. I can't think of where else he could have misplaced it."  
  
Rúmil furrowed his brow in concentration, clutching tightly at the yellow blanket once again. "Mayhap we could retrace his steps. He might have left it somewhere in the city."  
  
"Yes, he was gone the whole of yesterday on errands," Orophin mused, unconsciously pulling at his bottom lip. He eyed the battlefield that had once been the family room. Yes, anything would be better than attempting to clean this catastrophe at the moment. "Fine then, little one. Go and put on your shoes, we're going into the city. We'll find that bow before day's end!"  
  
Rúmil squealed and clapped his hands in appreciation before running to the room he shared with Orophin to retrieve his sandals. It looked like they were bound for a great adventure, and he sincerely hoped there would be a chance to encounter at least one dragon along the way. Haldir had recently shown him the rudiments of sword fighting (with a small wooden practice sword, of course). He was sure, given the right terrain and appearance of any number of famous weapons from elven history, that he could defeat any nefarious agent of total evil (his own newfound term). And Rúmil was certain, with all the surety in his young bones, that nefarious agents of total evil were responsible for the disappearance of his beloved brother's bow.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
Orophin determined that their first stop within the city of Caras Galadhon should be The Golden Hart, Haldir's favorite place for meeting friends, exchanging stories, and imbibing a glass or two of pale elven ale. The tavern's building was located at the base of one of the largest of the mellyrn in the city's market square, where residents of Caras Galadhon came to barter and buy the things necessary in their everyday lives. The city's founders had decided long ago that commercial buildings would be limited to the ground, in order to prevent merchants from having to maneuver heavy stock up ladders and slender walkways, as well as reducing fire hazard risks. Crafted of stone and delicate carved wood, these buildings grew as naturally from the earth as the neighboring trees. Centuries accumulated upon their weathered facades, moss and vine growing to encompass the whole in a living, protective camouflage. For many new visitors to the city, these buildings were nigh invisible, so artfully designed were they. It was a regular amusement for the elves of Lorien to point foreign visitors into a building before their very faces.  
  
The Golden Hart had stood at the locus of Caras Galadhon for longer than any current resident of the city could count. Its different permutations had thrived throughout the various epochs of the Golden Wood's history: the arrival of Celeborn and Galadriel, the rashness of Amroth, and the valiant, if foolhardy, idealism of Amdír. Its oaken floors had seen the passage of merchants and armies, residents and refugees. Many of the wise would say that the Golden Hart had seen it all, and kept many a secret tucked within its whitewashed walls. The proprietor of the Golden Hart, a very practical sort of elf, would merely shrug at such pronouncements; he cared more for his establishment's ability to generate gold or silver then its fabled and romantic history.  
  
To a small elfling, however, never before allowed to venture into such a place, the Golden Hart was terra incognita, exoticism made real - in a word, an adventure. Rúmil's eyes widened as he and Orophin approached the entrance of the Golden Hart: a fairly nondescript door, painted a deep green, and surrounded within its stone archway by hanging ornamental grape vines.  
  
Orophin shook Rúmil from his trance by pulling on his hand. "Come then, Rúmil, let us ask the barmaid if Haldir's bow has been seen. I'm sure he must have stopped here yesterday during his errands." With that, Orophin opened the door and pulled them inside, and Rúmil received his first view of the Golden Hart.  
  
In retrospect, Rúmil realized that the tavern was not what he had expected. In his mind he had imagined a darkened space lit only by firelight, with dirty rushes upon the floor, and groups of slightly disheveled looking elves clustered about, whispering furtively. It had seemed a place of secrets, and the elfling had a certain preconceived notion of how people and places with secrets looked. Instead, the Golden Hart was the opposite of all his expectations: well lit by natural light, exceptionally clean, and peopled by respectable looking, laughing groups of merry elves. He had half-expected to see a human or two, but was foiled in that hope also.  
  
They walked toward the serving bar that stretched the length of the tavern's back wall. Set high in the wall above the serving area was a large mosaic picture, from which the establishment derived its name. Hundreds of small bits of colored stone had been cut and polished into small squares, then set into a pattern articulating a mighty golden stag in the depths of a green wood. Rúmil noted that some of the small tiles had gone missing, including the stag's left eye. It seemed a macabre detail, and Rúmil was pleased to see it; perhaps the Golden Hart was a bit seedy after all. As they took a place alongside the oaken bar rail, which Rúmil was too small to see over, a serving maid gravitated in their direction, wiping down the bar surface with a cloth as she moved.  
  
"What will it be, loves? An ale for you and a juice for the little one?" she asked, indicating first Orophin and then Rúmil with her free hand.  
  
Rúmil looked up, a pout forming, as his brother stammered an answer. "No, no thank you, miss. I was wondering."  
  
"Loswen."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Loswen. My name is Loswen," she clarified.  
  
"Oh," Orophin deadpanned. "Well, Miss Loswen -"  
  
"No, just Loswen."  
  
Rúmil was surprised to see his brother blush. "Loswen, then. I was wondering, that is, we were here looking for our brother's bow. We thought he might have accidentally left it here yesterday."  
  
"And your brother would be."  
  
"Haldir."  
  
Rúmil heard a dainty, musical laugh erupt from above his head. "Haldir! Haldir misplace his bow? Now I have heard everything." It was a few moments before the laughter tapered off and the barmaid spoke again. "So, that must make you Orophin," she said.  
  
"Yes." Rúmil was shocked to see his brother's cheeks deepen a further shade of pink.  
  
Suddenly, a head appeared over the edge of the bar, peering down at Rúmil. He noted green eyes and hair so fair it appeared white, pulled back into one long plait. "And that means you are Rúmil," the grinning elf maid amended.  
  
He gave her his best scowl in return.  
  
"Already practicing expressions with Haldir, I see," Loswen said, another giggle escaping her before she pulled herself back upright. The conversation above Rúmil's head continued.  
  
"Well, Orophin, I can not remember seeing a misplaced bow of late, but I was not on duty yesterday, either. Come; let us check where we keep misplaced items. Perhaps it is there."  
  
"Alright," Orophin stammered, and moved to follow the barmaid as she walked to the opposite end of the bar.  
  
They circled around the end of the bar, and Loswen opened a small cupboard set into the wall. Several capes tumbled out unceremoniously, and she threw them onto the last stool beside the bar.  
  
"Well, here it is," she stated, tapping the cupboard door absently, "the official lost and found of the Golden Hart. Some of these items have been here as long as I have, and that's going back two hundred years or so." She craned her head to look into the small space. "Sorry, Orophin, but I don't see a bow."  
  
Orophin's face fell. "Oh, well, it was worth a try. Do you suppose any one of the patrons here now was here yesterday as well?"  
  
Loswen snorted in a most unladylike manner. "Almost certainly. Why don't you ask around? Maybe someone found it and turned it in to the guard post."  
  
"Yes, that's a great idea. I will." Orophin made to walk away before turning back. "Would you. would you mind keeping an eye on Rúmil for me?"  
  
Rúmil colored with affronted dignity. "I'm not a baby, brother! I don't need keeping!"  
  
Before Orophin could answer, Loswen countered Rúmil's petulant assertions. "That's alright, Orophin. Rúmil can help me take a look through some of the things in this closet. I believe many of them have been here so long that they probably need to be thrown out."  
  
Orophin looked undecided, but then gave a small half-bow and walked off in the direction of a raucous group of tavern patrons. Loswen and Rúmil eyed one another for a long moment. "Well, shall we about it, then?" she asked. She began removing small boxes from the cupboard and handing them to Rúmil, who in turn placed them on a nearby table. After five boxes had been removed, she sat down at the table and began leafing through the one nearest her. Rúmil took the seat opposite, trying to peer into the box around her hands.  
  
"It's as I thought," Loswen mumbled. "Nothing much but junk, and all of it old. See here, on the side? The owner wrote the year these things were collected, and that's four hundred years gone now. Ah, what's this?" Her fingers grasped at something towards the bottom of the box. "Here's a pretty thing."  
  
She held up a diminutive, clear object, not much bigger than a small plum. It was a bit of rock crystal, expertly carved into the shape of a lounging dragon, its scales edged in gold, with eyes of small, deep red rubies. It was both artful and realistic, and Rúmil had the distinct impression that he could hear the miniature drake's thoughts. He stared in dumbfounded admiration.  
  
Loswen gave him a knowing smile, proffering the object. "Here, you have it. I think you like it well enough, and Elbereth knows it's just going to waste sitting in the back of a closet."  
  
He curled his fingers about the small statue, feeling its weight warm the palm of his hand. "But I couldn't take this, it belongs to someone else."  
  
"I'd wager that, after four hundred years, no one is going to come looking for it. No, it's property of the Golden Hart now, and a tavern has no use for such trinkets. No, it's better off with you, young one. Think of it as a souvenir of the Golden Hart."  
  
He looked at her, suspicion warring with acceptance. "But won't the tavern owner want it?"  
  
She gave him a rueful smile. "No, of that I'm sure."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because I'm his daughter, and I know my father well enough to know he does not value such things." Her smile now was darker, somewhat more complicated than the ready, teasing look he had already come to know.  
  
"Oh," he said, clutching the dragon tight, "thank you, then, Loswen."  
  
She inclined her head slightly. "You're welcome, Rúmil."  
  
He leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Can I tell you a secret?"  
  
She mimicked his action, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. "Of course."  
  
"I had hoped to run into a dragon today," he whispered in all earnestness.  
  
Once again, her clear, sharp laugh rang through the Golden Hart. "And so you have, little one. So you have." She reached up and tousled his hair, a movement from which Rúmil attempted to shrug away.  
  
At that moment, Orophin returned, his expression indicating that his enquiries had been without luck. "Well, no one has seen a bow, nor heard of one being turned into the city guard. I suppose we should be off to the market square, to ask about there. I thank you for your hospitality, Loswen."  
  
She waved a hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it, although you must be sure and stop by to tell me how ultimately humiliating this situation becomes for our dear Haldir. I am sure it is no small thing for one of the Galadhrim to lose his bow."  
  
Orophin's cheeks colored again. "Er, no, it is not."  
  
Orophin grabbed Rúmil's hand and led him toward the entrance as Loswen turned back to resume inspecting the contents of the other boxes. Rúmil had enough time to give the bar maid a departing wave, and receive a warm smile in return, before Orophin pulled him out into the bustle of the market square. The green door of the Golden Hart closed behind them with a silent click.  
  
The rest of the day was spent weaving in and out of the various merchants' booths within the market square, asking the same questions, and receiving the same negative responses. After a few hours, Orophin left Rúmil, tired from fatigue and disappointment, beside the great fountain in the center of the market to amuse his self in whatever way he found. For a time, Rúmil stared at the large silvery-orange fish that lived in the bottom of the fountain, meeting their gazes of blank-minded interest with only a little curiosity of his own. Afterward, he removed the small crystal dragon from his pocket, rolling it in his fingers as he contemplated the whereabouts of Haldir's bow. After so little luck finding the bow within the city, Rúmil was more certain then ever that nefarious agents of total evil were behind its disappearance. It simply remained to riddle out what they would want with a single bow, and where they would place it once they had absconded with it.  
  
Orophin returned, hands laden with bags of foodstuffs. "Well, no luck with the bow, but I did find things for dinner tonight." He looked with interest at the object in his younger brother's hands. "What's that?"  
  
"A gift from Loswen. She said it was a souvenir of the Golden Hart."  
  
Orophin gave a coy smile. "Did she now? Perhaps I should go back and thank her at a more convenient time."  
  
Rúmil noticed his brother's cheeks flush scarlet, and rolled his eyes.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
The passing of a night and morning did nothing to lessen Rúmil's consternation at being unable to locate his eldest sibling's wayward weapon. He had lain awake most of the previous night, biting his bottom lip in exasperation and mumbling thoughts until Orophin, who shared the same bed, had gone to the kitchen to retrieve a warm tea with sedating herbs and forced Rúmil to drain the cup. He had fallen asleep, albeit grudgingly, with visions of laughing bows dancing just out of his reach, accompanied by dark, ominous forms slipping beneath the canopy of Lorien's noble trees. The dreams colored his mood upon waking, and he presented Orophin with his best scowl as he set himself down at the meal table. Wisely, his brother said naught in return.  
  
It did little to alleviate Rúmil's mood, then, when he also realized, somewhere in the middle of his honeyed apple slices, that it was mid-week, which meant only one thing: lessons. Long ago, the Lady Galadriel had founded a program of history and ethics lessons for all elflings under the age of forty within Caras Galadhon, to be taught by herself in the royal talan once a week, on the middle day. It was a rare privilege, and no family within the city had ever refused the offer; indeed, even Haldir and Orophin had known both the thrill and boredom of learning the Lady's unique views of their kind's history. However, the lessons, even with their colorful descriptions of dragons and monsters, did not suit Rúmil's disposition, and he often found himself fidgeting or daydreaming his way through them. Rúmil had once overheard the Lady woefully telling his brothers that he would never be a serious scholar. Haldir had seemed resigned to the information, but Orophin had frowned deeply, apparently stricken by the thought. Upon seeing his favored brother's reaction, Rúmil had seriously attempted to better his efforts during lessons. It had succeeded for a time, although his work always suffered when his concentration slipped.  
  
This day promised to be a day of little concentration and much disruption. He fought Orophin throughout the daily rituals of ablution, dress, and grooming. Rúmil threw down the first tunic handed him, and every one thereafter, until Orophin forcibly pulled a dark green one down over his head. He followed this outburst with the unceremonious launching of his hair comb across the room. It landed with a thud against the far wall, and Rúmil gave a small, twisted smile to think that his brother would be unable to braid his hair without it. Undeterred, Orophin compensated by using his own comb to arrange Rúmil's fine hair, accidentally snagging the tresses each time Rúmil jerked in his seat. At last, Orophin was satisfied that he could present an at least halfway decent elfling at the royal talan, and made ready to walk his younger brother to his lessons. Rúmil sulked, contemplating further ways of delaying departure from the family talan. However much to his disliking, Orophin was not to be gainsaid, and Rúmil soon found himself, knapsack in hand, being forcibly led to the residence of the Lord and Lady of the realm.  
  
The walk to the royal talan was short, owing to the proximity of the talans owned by the older families of Caras Galadhon to the center of the city. Along the way, Orophin hailed other elves he knew, exchanging quick pleasantries and merry laughter, many pointing out the recalcitrant elfling he dragged along beside him. Rúmil found it slightly offensive to be seen as an object of amused commentary, and allowed his displeasure to show in his narrowed eyes and pouted mouth. However, this seemed only to fuel the amusement of his elders, and one forward serving maid in the royal talan even pinched his cheeks as she exchanged "good days" with Orophin.  
  
It came almost as a relief to Rúmil, then, when Orophin deposited him in Lady Galadriel's small, semi-private study. The other elflings who attended lessons with him, seven total, were already arranged in a semi-circle before the Lady's feet, watching as she arranged a few last illustrations for use in the day's lesson. Orophin gave an abbreviated bow to her before seating Rúmil in his usual place and turning to depart. As always, the two eldest girls in the group made doe eyes at Orophin when he appeared and retreated. Rúmil grimaced, shooting an exaggerated look of disgust in their direction. They both rolled their eyes at him and turned away, but not before the more daring of the two stuck her tongue out at him. Lady Galadriel delicately cleared her throat to bring the group to order.  
  
"Today we will learn about a city that once existed to the west of Lothlorien. Who here knows aught of a place called Ost-in-Edhil?"  
  
Several hands shot up in the air, but Rúmil's was not amongst them. He probably knew as much as the other elflings did, but was not one who liked speaking up in groups. He listened inattentively as the others poured out their accumulated knowledge for the Lady, who smiled in turn at each speaker. Rúmil listened halfheartedly to tales of what parents and grandparents had said, half-remembered ballad lyrics, and lines out of nursery rhymes. Soon, Lady Galadriel had moved the conversation to a rudimentary outline of facts, illustrated by the small drawings she held before her. Rúmil evinced the same intent look his classmates employed, but mentally he still puzzled over the whereabouts of Haldir's missing bow.  
  
At noon the class was released for repast and play in the gardens, where they would have an hour at their leisure. Rúmil climbed into one of the smaller beech trees that graced the eastern edge of the Lady's gardens, settling into a warm, cozy nook within the tree branches to enjoy his lunch. Orophin had included a plum, a bit of lembas, and two small pieces of cheese in his knapsack, along with a small flagon of spring water. Rúmil ate contentedly while watching the other elflings in the garden below, talking and trading lunch items back and forth. From time to time, one of them would call up to him, cajoling him to come down and play. He would mutely nod a negative response before turning his mind back to picking at the persistent problem of his brother's errant weaponry. The lunch break passed, and a lady's maid appeared to corral the elflings back into Lady Galadriel's study. Rúmil dropped from his perch with an affected sigh, truly wishing he could remain within the beech's welcoming shelter.  
  
After the attendees had once again found their seats, the lesson recommenced, the Lady once again launching into a detailed discussion of the multitude of consequences of the overthrow of Eregion. Rúmil felt his eyes beginning to haze over, and the small bit of his attention not preoccupied with the ever-present question of Haldir's bow was diverted to a fat, lazy bee hovering just outside one of the tall lancet windows behind Lady Galadriel. He watched the bee as it happily droned about in a seesaw fashion, supping nectar from a flowering vine that twined through the mallorn limbs. Rúmil's eyelids became heavy, and he found himself thinking of the beekeepers' paddocks, wondering if Orophin had thought of looking there in their quest. Yes, perhaps Haldir had visited the honey makers..  
  
"Rúmil."  
  
Rúmil's eyes opened fully upon hearing his name. He was surprised to find that all the other elflings in the class were staring at him. The two oldest girls tittered behind their hands.  
  
"Yes, my Lady?"  
  
"What are your thoughts on this predicament, Rúmil," Galadriel repeated.  
  
"The predicament?" he parroted.  
  
"Yes, Rúmil, the predicament we have been discussing."  
  
"I. ," he froze, unsure what to answer. He had never before been caught so blatantly ignoring the lesson.  
  
"Yes?" The Lady raised one of her fair brows in anticipation of what was sure to be a very entertaining performance.  
  
"I.may I be excused to the facilities, my Lady?" He sighed inwardly. It was not the most ingenious way of getting out of a fix, but it would give him time to think up a suitably nonspecific yet applicable answer to the Lady's question.  
  
"Of course, Rúmil. Hurry back," Galadriel replied.  
  
Rúmil gave a small bow to the Lady as he turned to leave the room. He definitely heard giggling from behind his back before Lady Galadriel called the class back to attention.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
Rúmil had not completely been feigning need when he asked for leave; he did feel a desire to make use of the royal talan's personal facilities. It was unfortunate, then, he reflected while wandering the quiet, deserted hallways of the talan, that he could not fully remember how to find the public facilities. Orophin had shown him the directions on various occasions, but all the instructions had seemingly fled from his memory.  
  
He had been fairly sure that the facilities lay one hundred paces, two right turns, and one left turn from the Lady's study. However, these directions had netted only a servants' pantry. He partially retraced his steps, deciding on a right, left, right combination. This time, he found the door to a guest chamber. After several different combinations, and just as many failures, Rúmil gave up trying to remember directions, and began walking aimlessly throughout the corridor he was in, opening any unlocked door he came across.  
  
At last, he approached the end of the corridor, and saw that it terminated in a grand portal, larger than any of the others along the hallway. The portal was comprised of two large, carven doors, elegantly curved at their top, solid and forbidding. The entirety of the doors was articulated with the image of a great, stately tree, its branches pushing to the very edges of the portal, leaves unfurling in the imagined play of breezes. Inlaid silver articulated the trunk of the represented tree, running through the minutely detailed veins of its leaves, terminating in the forms of ripe, pendulous fruits at the end of many limbs. It was breathtaking, and Rúmil could not remember ever seeing such a beautiful thing in his life. Around the edges of the doors ran an inscription inlaid with gold, but Rúmil could not read it, for it was written in a elven script he did not know.  
  
Curiosity warred with his better judgment, and his fingers itched to curve against the bronze handles of the great doors, to gently pull them open and see what lay beyond. In the end, his better judgment was undone by the happy remembrance that many of the stately rooms had their own private baths. Therefore, he reasoned, he could always claim to be looking for facilities should anyone find and question him. Guilt assuaged, the elfling silently crept through the magnificent doors.  
  
The first room beyond the doors was a semi-formal study, not unlike the one in which he took his lessons. The furniture was carved from a light, ashen wood, fluted and attenuated into various pleasant forms. Curtains of diaphanous white were embroidered with silver thread in pleasing abstract motifs. There were several low banks of books, but the space did not give the feeling of a library. Another portal opened off the left side of the room, unhampered by doors.  
  
Beyond this stood a large bedroom, almost twice the size of the study area. The vaulted ceiling had been painted a tremulous blue, dotted with imitation clusters of stars picked out in a dusting of silver leaf. The wooden columns supporting the ceiling vaults were carved in mimicry of the giant mallorn limbs, and faux tendrils of branches cobwebbed from their tops in a fan shape. Two sides of the room opened onto large verandas looking down onto the city. Once again, thin white fabric embroidered in silver had been used for the drapes and bedclothes, lending an airy elegance to the space. Rúmil stepped forward and felt the sheets that covered the large bed. They were silken soft, and much finer than anything to be found at his own home. Pillows in copious mounds lined the head of the bed, creating what looked like a very pleasant haven to slip into and sleep. For all its obvious elegance, the room was fairly spartan. The only extraneous decorations were two beautifully carved crystal urns, bursting with blue and yellow flowers.  
  
Rúmil sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, allowing his eyes to continue examining all the beautiful details of the room. The furniture here was darker than that of the study, but still elegantly proportioned and decorated. A large wardrobe stood just within the portal, and Rúmil peered at the multitude of crafted images covering its sides. Once again, there were trees depicted, populated with small creatures that returned his gaze from beneath finely articulated leaves. Through the density of the represented foliage he could make out the barest slip of a landscape, mountains disappearing beyond an imagined horizon, ships sailing into the nameless void of flat oak.  
  
Something to the side of the wardrobe caught Rúmil's eye. It was a bow. He gulped, eyes widening.  
  
It was Haldir's bow.  
  
Rúmil leapt from the bed and traversed the few steps to where the bow stood, propped against the side of the wardrobe. Yes, this was his brother's missing bow! He knew this bow as well as his own hand. The dark wood, umber bordering on black, was carved with the imprint of curling mallorn leaves, their bodies twisting about the shaft in a delicate serpentine dance. There too, directly above the grip, was the rune that represented his brother's name, engraved deeply and flecked in gold. It was unstrung, as was his brother's habit when off-duty and within the city. It looked exactly as it had the last time he had seen it, two nights ago. Rúmil's brow creased, happiness being eased away by doubt and curiosity.  
  
What, in the names of all the Valar, was Haldir's bow doing within the royal talan and inside the sumptuous suite of a stranger? However had it come to be here? The obvious answer came to his mind almost immediately.  
  
It must have been stolen. Who would want to steal Haldir's bow, a bow of the Galadhrim, one of the deadliest weapons in all of Middle Earth? A small voice within his head, the most silent and altogether serious one he knew, spoke the only conclusion possible: nefarious agents of total evil.  
  
The answer was glaring, and startling in its implications. Somehow, nefarious agents of total evil had managed to infiltrate Lothlorien, heretofore one of the safest and well-guarded elven realms left in Middle Earth. They had obviously put into action some sort of plan to deprive Lothlorien's defenders of their weapons, thus leaving the realm weak and defenseless, ripe for overthrow and decimation. Rúmil's young mind quaked in fear and rebellion at the idea that such a scheme was festering right beneath the very noses of the Lord and Lady. Well, he cried inwardly, he would put a stop to that! He would simply take Haldir's bow, mark the location of this suite, and report at once to the captain of the guard on duty within the royal talan. Whoever had fallen into concert with the forces of darkness would be brought to heel, and made to pay for their crimes at once.  
  
Before Rúmil could put his plan into action, he heard the telltale click of the outer doors of the suite being drawn open. Without a thought, he dropped Haldir's bow back into position and dove for the handles of the ornate wardrobe, opening it and slipping inside without a moment's hesitation. He found himself cloistered amongst robes of various rich fabrics, assaulted by the cloying scents of the herbs and flowers used by the washerwomen to care for garments. He could hear the wide doors of the suite swing open not a moment after he pulled the wardrobe door closed, allowing the barest sliver of an opening to remain. A confident tread, light yet much heavier then his own, sounded quietly against the polished floors of the study. Rúmil listened attentively to the movements in the other room, reconstructing the stranger's movements in his mind. A slight airy rasp, and then a soft, faint thud; Rúmil frowned, and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. The image of papers being shuffled upon the desktop, followed by a book or ledger being put down, came to him. Then he heard a few steps, and the soft kiss of fabric against fabric. That was simple enough: a robe or cloak being laid across one of the upholstered chairs. Footsteps sounded again, leading inexorably into the bedroom.  
  
Rúmil held his breath and kept perfectly still, unwillingly to give away even the slightest hint of his presence. The footsteps neared his hiding place, and the young elfling sent up a silent prayer to the star-kindler that he not be discovered. The figure passed his hiding place, flashing through the gap in the doors for only a split second, but more than long enough for Rúmil to cringe at what, or who, he had seen. The figure had been tall, taller than most elves, and very stately, dressed in robes of crisp white edged in silver threads. The elf had a deeply beautiful and noble profile, offset by long strands of silver hair, falling unbraided to the waist. For a moment, Rúmil ceased to notice the footsteps receding into the distance, signaling that the silent elf had moved to one of the far verandas. His heart sank, not wishing to accept what he had seen, the horrible weight of the knowledge he now carried. However, his sense of self- preservation quickly overruled his own disbelief, and Rúmil realized that this was the best chance he had of leaving the talan suite undetected.  
  
Slowly, he opened the wardrobe door a little further, ascertaining that the other elf had truly retired to the far veranda. Reassured, Rúmil threw open the wardrobe doors, bolting for the main portal. His heart raced, feet moving as fast as possible as he flung himself through the chamber door and down the corridor. He careened past startled servants and advisors, his only thought to leave the royal talan as quickly as possible. The entirety of his run home was a jumble of thoughts and nervous reaction, all centered upon the heavy burden and import of the news he now had to impart to his older brother:  
  
Lord Celeborn was an enemy spy.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
Rúmil flew through the entrance to his family's talan, almost stumbling over Orophin, who had been crouched down on the floor, attempting to scrub an ink stain off the wooden slats. He looked up quizzically at his younger brother, who was panting from his exertions.  
  
"What are you doing here, Rúmil? You should still be at lessons."  
  
"I.. I.," Rúmil attempted, panting between efforts.  
  
Orophin pulled a face and led Rúmil to sit down on the divan. He walked into the kitchen, and returned with a glass of water and wet cloth. "Here," he said, holding out the glass. "Drink this and try to calm down. You're a mess." He stooped down before Rúmil, gently wiping the cloth across his forehead.  
  
Rúmil accepted the glass greedily, drinking the water much more quickly than was advisable. He still felt winded from the fast pace of his sprint from talan to talan, and the dull roar of his heart resounded in both chest and head. His legs, tired and achy, felt like leaden weights.  
  
Orophin stopped wiping his brother's brow and peered intently into his eyes. "Now, tell me what has happened, little brother, to cause you to arrive in such a state."  
  
"I found Haldir's bow!" Rúmil stated with much enthusiasm.  
  
"Then where is it? I see it no where," Orophin replied.  
  
"I.. I couldn't get it, not without the spy finding out," Rúmil admitted.  
  
Orophin blanched, and his face turned down in alarm. "Spy? Rúmil, of what do you speak?"  
  
"Haldir's bow was stolen! I found it in the royal talan, in the room of a spy, or an agent, or something, working against Lorien." Rúmil's countenance had taken on an aspect of righteous indignation mixed with a touch of suspicion. He knew he had to make Orophin understand the situation, but was leery of being patronized out of hand.  
  
Orophin squeezed his eyes shut, and absently raised a hand to rub at the space between his eyebrows. "Begin you story at the start, Rúmil, or I may not understand it." He sat back on his haunches, imparting an air of patient acceptance, despite the fact that he felt more than mildly annoyed with Rúmil.  
  
Rúmil gave him an assessing look, but, nonetheless, began relating the story of his day within the royal talan. By the end of the telling, he was once again agitated, his cheeks flushed a deep pink, and arms trembling in exasperation. "So you see, Orophin, we must go back, and expose this charlatan for what he is. The very future of Lorien may depend upon it!"  
  
Orophin looked at his brother blankly, and took a long breath before speaking. "Rúmil, you went into Lord Celeborn's suite without permission?"  
  
"Yes, but, it's not really Lord Celeborn. Weren't you listening? It's a spy, an imposter, an orc in elf's clothing!"  
  
Orophin's look became cold and closed, and he sliced the air with a commanding gesture. "Enough! That's enough of this nonsense, Rúmil. There are several valid, sane reasons why Haldir's bow may be in Lord Celeborn's suite. I don't want to hear any more of these odd ideas about spies and evil creatures infiltrating Lorien."  
  
"But."  
  
"No buts, Rúmil. I'm tired, and I think you must be, too. Now, go to your room, and stay there until dinner. We'll go and fetch Haldir's bow tomorrow, but I don't want to hear any more of these bizarre ideas from you."  
  
Rúmil clenched his hands into fists and ran to their room. He slammed the door behind him and flopped down on their bed. Fine, he thought, Orophin didn't believe him? Then he'd prove it tomorrow, when they both went to retrieve Haldir's bow. Let Orophin try to deny the truth when it was staring him in the face, he thought grimly.  
  
In the family room, Orophin heaved a great sigh at his younger brother's stormy exit. These tantrums were nothing new; Rúmil had a very active imagination, and it sometimes got the better of him. What concerned Orophin more was the very real news that Rúmil had brought: the whereabouts of Haldir's bow. It was true what he had said to his younger brother; there were several valid, totally innocent reasons why his elder brother's bow might be found in such a place. However, Orophin found he could not stop his mind from pursuing more complex, and ultimately disastrous, scenarios, ones that could be the undoing of his sometimes-reckless older brother. He hoped, for all their sakes, that Haldir had more sense then Orophin often credited him with - and, that he had used it.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
The next morning found the young brothers moving stealthily through the service corridors of the royal talan, carefully staying close to walls and stepping as lightly as possible. Orophin navigated from memory, reaching back to the days when he accompanied their mother in her duties as serving maid within the royal talan. She had shown her young son shortcuts to every main suite and corridor, and ways of coming and going without being seen by persons of more elevated station. Orophin mentally thanked her as he moved from corner to corner, making sure that their progression remained unmarked. Rúmil hovered by his side, eyes alight. If all went according to plan, they would be able to get in and out of Lord Celeborn's suite without incident, as Orophin had wisely chosen an hour of the morning during which the rulers of Lothlorien held counsel, and most servants were busy preparing the noontime meals.  
  
All too soon, they came to the majestic doors marking the entrance to Lord Celeborn's suite. Orophin stopped Rúmil as he reached for the bronze door handles, placing a restraining hand on his brother's arm. He stooped into a low crouch, and whispered into his brother's ear, "Let us ascertain if anyone is inside first!" They both placed ears against the great doors, stretching their elven hearing to its limits. Naught but silence was heard from beyond the doors.  
  
Orophin leaned in again to whisper in his brother's ear. "Let me go in first, and follow as quickly and quietly as possible. Remember, no talking once we are inside, gestures only. Show me where the bow is, and then let's leave as quickly as possible." Rúmil nodded his head in understanding.  
  
Orophin opened the right door slowly, peering intently into the space beyond. Apparently satisfied, he slipped into the study, Rúmil following quietly behind as Orophin closed the door with a silent gesture. They stood for a moment within the study, unsure and unmoving. Orophin mouthed a single word to Rúmil, and the younger elf pointed in the direction of the bedchamber. With as much stealth as two elves could muster, the brothers moved into the bedchamber, Rúmil immediately going over to retrieve the bow from its resting place next to the wardrobe. He placed it in Orophin's hands, and his older brother gave the object a long glance before nodding and strapping the bow to the pack slung across his shoulders. Turning, he grasped Rúmil's hand and made to leave the suite.  
  
Their movement was halted by one imperative, firmly stated word, originating from the veranda that now stood behind them.  
  
"Daro."  
  
The pair turned unsteadily, hands clasped one in the other. Lord Celeborn stood at the edge of the bedchamber, just within the line of delicate white curtains that separated the space from the west balcony. As ever, he was immaculately dressed in his white and silver court robes. His stance was relaxed, unimposing save for his height, and his arms were folded across his chest.  
  
"What's this? Two elflings in a place they should not be, taking items that do not belong to them." There was no hint of malice or vehemence in his words, simply resigned curiosity.  
  
Much to Orophin's chagrin, Rúmil chose that moment to once again find his voice. "It belongs to our brother," he stated, regaining his usual composure.  
  
Lord Celeborn gave a slight nod. "Indeed, and it is his responsibility to reclaim it, not to send his younger brothers like thieves to retrieve what he has misplaced."  
  
Rúmil broke away from Orophin, taking a step forward. "They can not be called thieves who reclaim what was already stolen for its rightful owner!"  
  
Orophin stepped up quickly and placed both hands on his smaller brother's shoulders, feeling the quaking tension beneath his palms. "Rúmil." he began.  
  
Lord Celeborn lifted a hand in a gesture of polite command. "Hold. I think I should like to hear the explanation for such a statement. I think I might find it terribly amusing." He walked the short distance to an elegantly crafted table and chair. Sitting, he arranged the graceful pleats of his formal robes before looking back to the two brothers. "Yes, I think I should like to hear this. So, tell me, little one, what mean you with these rash words?"  
  
Rúmil ignored the steadily increasing pressure of Orophin's fingers on his shoulders as he made his answer. "It is as I said; this bow was stolen, not misplaced, and we have come to reclaim it for our brother. and accuse the one who stole it."  
  
Lord Celeborn raised his fair brow at such a blatant pronouncement. "Oh? I assume from your tone that that is meant to be me."  
  
Rúmil lowered his eyelids to mere slits, making the elder elf lord wonder if the youngling were attempting to look threatening. As it stood, the expression missed slightly, and revealed more the look of a temperamental elfling in the midst of a fit. "Yes."  
  
Celeborn moved one arm to rest against the table, lifting two fingers to steady against the side of his face. "And why, exactly, would I wish to steal the bow of one patrol recruit, when I have at my disposal an arsenal of the finest elven weapons crafted within the last two ages?"  
  
In the midst of his consternation, Rúmil attempted to pull away from Orophin's bruising grip, but was unable to do so. "You know why! This is all a part of your plot to deprive Lothlorien's guardians of their weapons so that our wood will be unprepared for assault."  
  
"And why ever would I, Celeborn, Lord of Lothlorien, wish such a thing to come to pass?"  
  
Orophin attempted to restrain his brother, knowing what accusations the next outburst would bring, but his small brother wriggled from his hands like a slippery fish, distancing himself as he raised an accusatory finger in Lord Celeborn's direction. "Because you're not Lord Celeborn! The real Lord Celeborn is most likely rotting in a torture chamber somewhere. You're an imposter, a spy, a nefarious agent of total evil! Orc in elf's clothing! "  
  
Much to Orophin's surprise, Lord Celeborn did not begin calling for the guard to troop he and Rúmil off to the nearest detention cell. Instead, he laughed, and his ancient silver eyes seemed to reflect true amusement.  
  
"Well, that's the first time in a long time that I've been called an orc. Yes, I think the last person who dared such a thing was one of Artanis' cousins, who was a bit put out at the idea of his royal cousin marrying a Sinda." Lord Celeborn's smile faded a bit at the memory, but was soon replaced when he took another look at Rúmil, standing before him like a warrior ready for battle. "So, tell me, little one, what can I do to convince you of the truth of the situation? I am no orc, and it is true what I said concerning your brother's bow. He came here to deliver messages from his watch commander before returning to the border. A guard brought the bow to me later, as your brother had accidentally left it behind in the audience hall. I was keeping it here until your brother next arrived with messages from the northern front. Does that satisfy your suspicions?"  
  
Rúmil looked swayed, but still uncertain. "I suppose we would have to know for certain that you are who you say you are."  
  
"Rúmil, enough -" Orophin's objection was cut off once again by a movement from his Lord.  
  
"Alright, little one, then I meet your terms. I suppose you wish for two proofs to show your theory wrong?"  
  
Rúmil nodded, shifting his weight between his feet, one of his personal signs of nervousness.  
  
Lord Celeborn stood, straightening his robes. "I suppose the first test must show that my physical form is my own." He lowered himself to sit cross- legged before the now startled elfling. "As you see, I am at your disposal." He sat back, giving Rúmil a carefully blank stare.  
  
Somewhat unsure of himself, Rúmil lifted a hand to the elf lord's fine silver hair, and gave it a hard tug. Orophin winced. Then, his young brother proceeded to check the other elf's ears, which were partially hidden beneath his long fall of hair, before staring long and hard at his eyes. Apparently satisfied, Rúmil gave a disaffected shrug before speaking. "I suppose everything seems as it should, were you the real Lord Celeborn."  
  
Lord Celeborn's lips twitched in a small smile. "Well, here is further proof, then." He lifted the sleeves of his robes up above his left elbow, revealing a long, slightly faded scar that ran diagonally across his forearm. "This wound I received during the War of Sauron and the Elves."  
  
Rúmil observed it closely, and seemed satisfied with its authenticity. He straightened, returning the gaze of the elf before him. "One more thing, then. You must tell us something only the Lord Celeborn would know, and that no imposter would think to learn."  
  
Lord Celeborn appeared thoughtful for a moment before replying. "The problem with that request is that many of the secrets I carry are not to be imparted to others, least of all to difficult elflings. But I believe I know at least one anecdote that may fulfill your request. When Galadriel and I first accepted the ruling of Lothlorien, we commissioned a large fountain to be built in the center of the market square. On the day the fountain was to be inaugurated, a group of merchants came to us and requested that they be allowed to place decorative fish in the lowest level of the fountain, to be both pleasing to the eye and a token of good luck. We agreed, not seeing any harm in the idea. As the fish were released into the fountain, my Lady scooped one from the water, almost pure white in its coloration, and said a further charm of blessing and goodwill on the fish and fountain, and lightly kissed the top of the fish's head as the sign of this blessing. Afterwards, many residents of the city noticed that the same fish now carried a red mark upon its head, almost the exact shape of my lady's kiss. That fish still swims within the fountain, all these centuries gone. It has come to be known as the 'Lady's Heart'."  
  
Rúmil looked back to Orophin, who nodded. He had heard this story once from his mother, and seen the fish himself, swimming a lazy track through the fountain's pool. Upon seeing this confirmation, Rúmil turned back to Lord Celeborn and bowed. "I am sorry I doubted you, my Lord."  
  
Lord Celeborn gave a short laugh while rising from the floor. "Not at all, little one. I am glad that the young generation of Lothlorien shows such concerns for its safety. You will make a fine guardian one day, of that I am sure. Go now, and know that I am not angry with you for this episode." He touched a hand lightly atop Rúmil's fair head, regaining the regal posture of a lord giving audience.  
  
Orophin bowed in return for this magnanimous gesture, and moved to usher Rúmil out of the Lord's chambers. He was stopped by a final comment.  
  
"And, Orophin, I am sure my Lady is most anxious to speak with young Rúmil about the way he disappeared from his lessons yesterday."  
  
Rúmil gave a load groan as both brothers exited their Lord's chambers, Haldir's wayward bow strapped to Orophin's back.  
  
*~*~*oOo*~*~*  
  
Only a few moments after Orophin and Rúmil departed Lord Celeborn's chambers, the door to the heavy oaken wardrobe swung open, and a disheveled and partially clothed Haldir stepped from within its cramped space.  
  
"What was that all about?" he asked in a highly exasperated tone of voice.  
  
Lord Celeborn shrugged, and moved to sit on the edge of the large bed. "Somehow, your youngest brother found out that your missing bow was within my suite, and he jumped to some silly conclusion that I was an agent for the forces of darkness, working to undermine the security of Lothlorien by stealing Galadhrim weapons."  
  
Haldir groaned, and ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "I'll kill him, I really will."  
  
Lord Celeborn waved the comment away. "Let it go. The child is imaginative and perceptive; both qualities will make him a good guardian when he reaches maturity. And, unlike some, he seems to have a care for where weapons are placed." The elf lord arched a brow in his companion's direction.  
  
Haldir rolled his eyes as he walked to the bed, flopping down most unceremoniously next to its owner. "Well, I did have a suspicion of where it was. I just couldn't tell anyone about it, could I?"  
  
Lord Celeborn grinned down at the reclining figure. "No, I suppose not. However, I do believe a guardian who loses his weapon should receive some form of punishment. A way to curb bad habits, so to speak."  
  
It was Haldir's turn to look startled. "Oh? So it's to be punishment, then?"  
  
"Most definitely," Celeborn answered in a low growl.  
  
Haldir's response was cut short as his lips were commandeered by his Lord's questing mouth.  
  
The End 


End file.
